


Believe it or Not

by ImADissapointment



Series: Street Race AU (Life is a Highway) [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 80s, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Listen I don't endorse crime but street racing hit different, M/M, Most of these cars aren't fancy, No Smut, Slow Burn, Song fic, Street Racing, expect nothing but also expect everything, like one team has a goddamn hippie van, not beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImADissapointment/pseuds/ImADissapointment
Summary: George, a goody-two-shoes boy from the big city of London moves to the small county of Night Vision, in the town of L'manburg. While he is here to get away from it all, things seem to go a different path once he's introduced to Dream and the illegal sport of street racing.What will happen once he joins Dream and his friends' endeavors and what will become of him when he starts to get a little too close to his newfound friend, Dream.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Street Race AU (Life is a Highway) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206161
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Go West Young Man

**Author's Note:**

> So, two things here. Ignore that the song mentioned was made in the 90s even though this AU takes place in the 80s and second. Yes, it’s a Christian song but I thought it fit too well to not mention, Anyhow, with that let’s get on with the story. Also, all measurements of speed will be in kilometers because fuck you America /lh  
> No, it’s really because I’m Canadian and we use the metric system and I’m not gonna convert everything to miles just for the Americans.

The sun’s rays blare down on the open highway, causing rippling marriages to appear on the asphalt. Miles and miles of farm field box in the road on either side. Cattle farms, wheat, corn, flax, all passing by quicker than one can blink. The road is cracked and the yellow strips have faded from the countless cars that have driven across it over the years and the state’s lack of caring to fix the potholes. 

Cruising along on this worn with time road is one singular car. It’s boxy and most likely a lot older than whatever you’re thinking right now. It’s just your run-of-the-mill 80s Ford car. No bells and whistles, no flashy paint job, doesn’t even look all that expensive. It’s really just your average joe kinda car. 

The black chipped paint glows brightly under the sun’s heat, casting rays of its own onto the road. The car’s hood sticks out quite a ways away in front of the car, making it look longer than it actually is. The windows are rolled down, letting the fresh summer breeze rush inside and offer relief for a man driving it. 

George, the man in question is driving said car. A young, strapping 24-year-old. With one hand on the steering wheel and one hand out the window as he cruises down the hallway. The wind ruffles through his dark brown (nearly black) hair. The heat down in this part of the country is way more drastic than where he’s from. 

The back seat is filled with boxes and suitcases of various different items. Sitting in the passenger’s seat is a dog, a Hungarian Vizsla to be exact. Its coat is yellowy-golden. The dog’s head sticks out the window, ears flapping in the wind and tongue hanging out of their mouth. 

The song  _ “Go West Young Man _ .” By Michael.W.Smith blares through the speakers of the car’s CD player. As the afternoon sun shines down on the man and his car, all seems to be perfect. However, there’s a tight knot of butterflies in his stomach. 

Life certainly hasn’t turned out the way he thought it would, but really when does life ever go one’s way? A new life out west, a new place to start fresh and leave your old life behind. With nothing other than his car, his dog, and the uncertainty of what lies ahead. George keeps one hand on the wheel and one foot pressed to the gas, peddling ahead into the unknown. 

Switching hands, so his left is gripped on the leather wheel and one is petting his dog, George also keeps an eye on the right side of the road. Signs zoom on by. “Campsite up ahead.” “100 km per hour.” Finally though, the sign he’s looking for appears. “Night Vision County in the next 10 km.” 

George takes a deep breath, trying to ease his mind of any anxieties. He looks over to his dog who now is curled up on the fabric seat. She nuzzles into the palm of his hand, offering enough comfort to ease the man’s mind, even if only for a moment. The sign passes by. “Night Vision County, your last destination.” 

Ominous, sure but George could care less. He checks the watch on his wrist, it reads a quarter past 12. About thirty minutes until he needs to meet the landlord of his new home. 

Truthfully, George doesn’t know why he’s chosen to live in the middle of nowhere. Why he’s miles away from home and why he’s chosen to leave it all behind. But in truth, it feels less like a choice and more like an obligation, something he has to do. 

Signs of buildings appear in the distance. He passes by a large junkyard, the smell of rotting garbage flares up in his nostrils, causing his face to scrunch. The end of the street nears, turning onto another strip of road. The buildings near closer, none of them stacking up all that tall but that’s ok, it’s nice to not see tall buildings every time you turn a corner. George nuzzles the top of his dog’s head while saying. “We're almost there girl.” 

As he approaches the town, he passes houses, children, shops, and other things. He struggles to keep his eyes fixed on the road, seeing as his eyes are occupied by all the new sights. However, he snaps back to reality when the town’s sign comes into view. “L’manburg, Home of Nothing in Particular.” 

George taps the brake, slowing the car down as he pulls into town. He switches on his turn signal while hanging a right. Small, rustic buildings fill the town. They’re all somewhat worn down with weather and time, quite like the highway roads. People walk down the sidewalks, mingling with one another. It’s peaceful, the kind of peace George has been searching for. 

He turns another corner, pulling onto a smaller road leading up to a string of houses. George’s eyes scan down the road, looking at the house numbers. 2,4,6,8, they continue to pass by until he finds the correct house, number 14. George pulls off to the left, grabbing hold of the stick shift and pulling the car into park. He looks out the window, staring at the house. 

It’s a one-story, not all that flashy but that’s just fine by George. The exterior is made of wood, painted blue. The house looks incredibly two-dimensional, that is if it weren’t for the garage that sticks out in front. Standing on the doorsteps is a man, he waves his hand, inviting the man to come near. George looks down at his dog who is still laying comfortably on the car’s seat. He smiles, giving her one more pet before saying. “You stay here girl, I’ll be back in a minute.” 

With those words, George opens the driver's door and leaves. He stretches his limbs a bit while he walks. “Ah, I assume you’re Mr.Davidson?” The man asks. 

George nods, approaching the well-dressed fellow. “That’d be me.” 

“Good, good. So you’re here for the house then?” 

George comes to stand at the bottom of the concrete steps, crossing his arms with a smile. “I mean, what else would I be doing here?” 

“Fair enough.” 

The landlord looks down at his watch. His eyes spring open in alarm upon reading the time. “Shit.” He cusses, barley just loud enough for one to hear. 

George tilts his head in concern. “Is there something wrong?” 

“Oh, no, no. Everything’s fine, I just forgot that I scheduled to have lunch with someone in about thirty minutes.” 

“Oh,” George says. “Then you should probably get going.” 

The landlord looks up from his watch, looking mildly concerned. “Yeah, I should but I also need to show you around the house.” 

George waves his hand dismissively. “It’s fine, I can just figure it out for myself.” 

“You sure?” 

“Positive, besides. It’s not a big house I’m sure it won't be all that difficult to find things.” 

The man looks at this watch, then to George, then back to his watch. Sighs and says. “Alright, fair enough. Here's the key.” 

The landlord tosses a key, attached to a chain. George grabs it mid-air, he looks down at it. It’s small and golden, it catches the sun’s light, shooting off small rays. It mirrors George, reflecting back the corner of his face. He twirls it around between his fingers. It’s all surreal. “Ok, if you have any questions or problems, just call me.” The landlord says, snapping George out of his trance. 

George nods, giving the man a single to leave. He watches as the landlord sprints off towards his car, leaving George alone. Just him, his house, his car, his dog, and the unknown. 

George huffs a bit, making his way back to the car. The dog is propped up on the window, head sticking out with a smile on her face. George smirks a bit, petting the Vizsla. “Well girl, we’ve got a lot to get done.” 

With those words, he opens the driver’s door to which the dog springs out. With a smile, George opens the backseat door. Loads and loads of boxes piled up to the car’s roof. He pulls out one of the ones on the top. It’s not terribly too heavy, most likely just a bunch of clothes. George walks away from the car, heading towards the house. His dog trots beside, ears bouncing with every step. He walks up the cracked steps to his house, approaching the door. It’s a wooden frame, country-style door. The white paint is chipped and faded but it’s not like George has the time to care. He looks down at the key in his hand, fiddling it in his palm for a minute or so. With a deep breath, George places the key into the lock. Turning it to the left and then back to the right, it unlocks. George places a hand on the cold metal doorknob and with it, opens the door. 

Before stepping into the building, George surveys the area. It’s mostly open concept with not many installments and certainly not any furniture. Unfortunately, this means that he’s gonna be sleeping on the cold wood floor until the moving van came with the rest of his stuff tomorrow. With a bark, George’s dog zooms past him, running into the house. 

He smiles brightly, watching his dog dart from place to place. He takes a step into the house while saying. “Hey, wait for me!” 

The next few hours are filled with George taking all the boxes out of his car and placing them in his new home. It’s messy, sure but he can fix things up later. He makes his way back to the car, grabbing the last of the boxes. Reaching in, he grabs it. It’s fairly heavy and large which leads George to close the car door with his foot. Just as he turns around to walk back to the house, an unfamiliar voice speaks. “So, you’re the new neighbour?” 

George looks over his shoulder. Standing on the road, just behind the car’s hood is a man. He’s tall, his hair a messy, unkempt blondish-brown. He wears a bright green sweater, but to George it looks more like a dull yellow. There’s a kind smile on his face like he’s known this guy since forever. George raises an eyebrow, unsure of who this man is and what his intentions are. “Ye-yeah… That’d be me, who are you?” 

The man chuckles, walking out from behind the car. His hands sit comfortably just under the leather belt on his blue jeans. The strange man sticks out a hand while replying. “Name’s Dream, yours?” 

George hesitates for a moment, looking down at the man’s hand and then back up to his face. He’d never met a fellow so quick to introduce himself in such a friendly manner. George shifts the box around in his arms so he can properly shake Dream’s hand. He grabs it firmly, the man’s knuckles and palm feel rough and calloused which contrasts heavily compared to George’s smooth, almost velvety hands. 

George is the first to pull away from the handshake, still feeling extremely uneasy. There’s an awkward stillness in the air seeing as how George refuses to say anything, nevermind show any emotion in his body language or face. The other man brings up a hand to rub the nape of his neck, still trying to keep the same sincere smile on his face. “So… What brings a fellow like you to a town like our-” 

“Why are you talking to me?” George interjects. 

The words kinda just fall out without realizing. It only takes a second for the British man to realize how rude his words sounded. “Excuse me?” 

George shoots a hand up to cover his mouth.  _ “Damn me and my inability to hold my tongue.”  _

George coughs lightly into his fist, trying his best to back track. “I’m so sorry, that sounded super disingenuous. It’s just… You sunk up on me out of nowhere and I uh,” George eyes the man up and down, his hands now sit to rest in his back pockets. “I don’t know who you are. So, uh… I guess I just wanna know why a perfect stranger would talk to me.” 

Nice save. Dream nods, humming pleasantly. “People don’t often move in around these parts. You’ve been the talk of the town ever since that for sale sign turned to sold.” 

George looks to his front lawn, where a wooden for sale sign sits, just beside the driveway. “Oh,” He says. 

“I just wanted to know what we were in for.” Dream continues. 

George looks back at the man, giving a very forced, half-assed smile. Just wishing to retreat to his house and be unbothered. A loud honk from a car blares down the road, catching the two men’s attention. A pickup truck drives down the road, it’s painted a red, orange, and green camouflage. God, it’s tacky. The truck nears closer, two men sit inside. They pull up just behind George’s parked car and one of the men leans out of the rolled-down windows. He’s on the driver’s side, skin darker in tone and hair a curly black that matches the black stubble on his face. “Dream! What the hell man?” He says, throwing an arm up in the hair. 

Dream cringes, scratching his neck a bit more. He turns around slowly, waving to the man. “Hey Ponk.” 

The man pays no attention to Dream’s greeting, continuing to shout. “Dude! We’ve been looking all over for you, what are you doing?” 

Dream takes a step back, spreading out one of his arms to gesture to George. “Just introducing myself to our new neighbour.” 

Ponk and the man sitting beside him look over at George to which the Brit gives an awkward wave. Ponk nods before turning his attention back to Dream. “ I mean, that’s great and all but could’ve it have waited? We need to get to the track like,”  Ponk looks down at his watch. “Now!” 

Dream raises his hands up in surrender before letting them rest behind his head. “Fine, geez. I just wanted to be a good, friendly neighbour.” 

“Seems like your efforts were pretty fruitless though. I mean, look at the poor guy.” The man beside Ponk says, pointing to George. 

Dream looks back over his shoulder at the stiff and sheepish man. “He looks scared out of his wits.” 

The man leans over, crossing over the driver’s body. He smiles gently, trying to not scare off George any further. “Sorry bout’ our friend here, he’s a… Strong personality.” 

“I am not!” Dream retorts. 

Ponk throws his head back against the vinyl seat in frustration. His hands grip tighter around the wheel as he speaks. “Listen! We don’t have time to argue about this! Just get back in the Dream!” 

Both Dream and George’s eyes pan over to the back of the car, the trunk. “I’m not sitting in the fucking trunk Ponk!” Dream says. 

“Too bad! Get here last, you sit in the back. You know this Dream.” Ponk shoots back. 

Dream groans a bit, rubbing his face with his hand before reluctantly making his way to the car’s trunk. Before he hops in though, he looks over at George. “Sorry about all this, if you ever need help moving in though, I live just down the road!” 

Before he can give a proper goodbye, Ponk hits the gas. As the truck drives away with Dream only hanging onto and standing on the tailgate, he gives a quick wave goodbye. 

George stands alone, stunned and mostly confused. A bark comes from behind, George’s dog comes to sit at his left side. George, still looking at the truck cruise down the road, speaks to his dog in a half-daze. “Girl, something tells me we’re not gonna get any peace or quiet in this town.” 


	2. Here Comes the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George gets hungry and goes to the local diner but when he's there he comes across a familiar face he saw the day previously (I'm bad at writing summaries, ok?)

George awakes the next morning to the feeling of his face being caked in a wet, slimy texture. His eyes flutter open to be met with his dog, slobbering and showering him in wet kisses. 

George groans, lightly pushing the dog away. He feels gross, trying to wipe his hands and face with the sleeping bag he used as a bed. The golden, gitty dog bounces around. A bright smile stretches across her face. While the morning greeting may have been disgusting, George finds it hard to stay mad at the animal. 

With a smile, he moves to stand up. The hard wooden floors hadn’t been all too kind on the man. George places his hands to his back, stretching his sore muscles. “God, those movers better get here soon.” He mumbles to himself. 

Stretching his arms in the air, George looks around, the dog sits at the front door, looking back at her owner. She whines a bit while placing a paw on the door. George huffs a bit. “You need out girl?” 

The dog whines some more, pattering her feet in place. George obliges, making his way over to the pet. He opens the door to which the dog sprints and onto the front lawn. George steps out of the house, leaving against the doors frame while he waits for the dog to relieve itself. 

He looks out on the road and at the other houses. All neatly lined up beside each other. A large oak tree sits at the end of every house. If trees had mouths, oh the stories they’d tell. People pass on by down the sidewalk, some with pets, some by themselves. Birds chirp happily from their nests, signaling the start of the day. Everything is bright and full of colour. It’s all so different from the loud, grey, and industrial life George is used to, but it’s a good kind of different. 

George looks down the sidewalk, coming up it is a woman and what seems to be her child. They walk hand in hand, cheerful smiles on their faces. They seem to giggle about something, it’s serine. The two pass in front of the house’s driveway before the girl’s attention is caught by something. “Puppy!” She exclaims. 

The girl barrels forward, heading towards George’s dog. This action causes the man to jog down to the lawn, making sure nothing bad becomes of the situation. “Oh, Michelle,” The lady says, running up behind her supposed daughter. 

She grabs her wrist lightly. “You can’t just go up and pet a stranger’s dog. You have to ask first.” She scolds. 

George comes to crouch beside his dog, looking up at the woman and child. From here he can see them better. The lady is short, no taller than 5’2. Her hair is curly with half of it being brown while the other side is white. She wears a flowery low cut blouse with a pair of baggy jeans. 

The little girl looks to be no older than five. She wears a pair of blue jean overalls with a knitted pink crewneck sweater. Her hair is also curly and did up into pigtails. Her free hand stretches outward in a grabbing motion, seemingly still wishing to pet the dog. “I’m so sorry about that.” The lady says. 

George waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it.” 

George comes to look the girl in the eyes who now hides a bit behind the lady’s leg, clinging to the fabric of her pants. Gently, George asks. “You wanna pet the dog?” 

The girl nods sheepishly. George waves a hand to himself, offering the girl to come. The child looks up to her guardian of whom gives an affirming nod. She steps out from behind and approaches the dog. George pulls his dog a bit closer. He takes the girl’s hand, placing it gently on the dog’s snout. The dog after a second of getting used to the foreign touch nuzzles into the girl’s hand. She giggles before continuing to pet the dog. With a smile, George moves to stand up, dusting himself off in the process. Still looking down at the girl and dog, George inquires. “That your kid?” 

The lady nods. “Yep, her name’s Michelle. Cutest darn thing you ever did see, right?” 

George nods, turning to look at the lady slowly. “Oh, for sure.” 

The lady smiles sweetly, it reminds him of the way his own mother used to look at him. The woman sticks out her hand. “I’m Puffy by the way.” 

George takes the lady’s hand. “George, I’m new here.” 

“Oh, so you’re the guy who bought this here house?” 

The two look at the building and all it’s old, faded glory. George scratches his temple. “Yeah, that’d be me.” 

“Interesting establishment, been sitting vacant for years now.” 

“Oh, really?” 

Puffy nods, placing her hands on her hips. “Yeah, used to be home to these three guys before they acquired enough money to build a mansion.” 

“A mansion?” George says in alarm. 

“Yep, sits behind the town hall now.” 

Puffy sighs as if the thought of bringing it up brings back less than pleasant memories. She shakes her head, bringing herself back to reality. “But that’s neither here nor there,” The woman turns to look at George, a placid smile on her face. “What brings a fellow like you to a town like ours?”

George chuckles a bit, thinking back to yesterday. The very words that the strange man in the green crewneck had asked him. It’s like everyone in this town is a broken record. Puffy laughs along, raising an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?” She asks. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just that you reminded me of this guy I met yesterday.” 

“Guy you met yesterday?” Puffy parrots. 

She wrinkles her forehead in thought for a moment before lighting up upon realizing who it was. “Oh, you mean my son Dream?” 

George takes a small step back in alarm. “Yeah, how’d you know?” 

Puffy “psts” while waving a hand in the air limply. “Just figured, he always makes a point of greeting any new neighbours in the town. Friendly boy but a lot to deal with at once.” 

George mumbles to himself. “You can say that again.” 

“You just watch out for him cause next thing you know he’ll try roping you into our little racing ring we’ve got here.” 

George tilts his head in question “Racing ring?” 

Puffy covers her mouth slightly as if she let something slip that she shouldn’t. She rubs her neck nervously while replying. “Yeah, racing ring. We have a little hobby here in L’manburg. We take our cars out onto the roads outside of town and race them.” 

“Oh, sounds fun.” 

“It is if your want you could always come down and watch, but by no means is it necessary. Don’t wanna spring too much on you at once.” 

George nods in understanding. The two stand in silence, looking down at Michelle and the dog. Suddenly, George’s stomach rumbles violently. It dawns upon him that he hasn’t eaten yet. Actually, now that he thinks about it, he didn’t bring much food with him. Only a half-eaten bag of beef jerky sits in his car door. God, he wasn’t prepared. George grabs his stomach, groaning slightly. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just haven’t eaten since yesterday. Also, don’t have any food come to think of it.” 

“Oh, you poor dearie. You didn’t pack any food?” Puffy asks. 

George shakes his head, chuckling a bit while he talks. “No, didn’t think that far ahead for some reason.” 

“Oh, you poor boy,” Puffy says. 

She taps her foot to the ground, thinking for a moment or so. Once she comes to a conclusion her eyes light up. “Oh! Have you ever heard of the Last Stop Dinner?” 

George shakes his head. “Have not.” 

“It’s a lovely little restaurant just outside of town. Good food, great service, highly recommend.” 

George nods in understanding while his stomach still rumbles like a wild animal. “Where abouts is it?” 

  
  


“Ok, you know where the sign to the town is?” 

George nods to which Puffy points in the general direction of the restaurant. “If you just keep heading straight, it’s at the end of the highway before the turn onto the next road, you can’t miss it.” 

George squints his eyes, trying to see where Puffy is pointing to. While he can’t see where it is, he has a mental picture of what direction he’s going in. George nods in understanding. “Thanks.” He says. 

“Oh, it’s not a problem.” 

Puffy looks down at her child who bounces around and plays with the dog, all starry-eyed and a bubbly smile on her face. It almost feels like a sin to end this joyful display. “Michelle, we gotta go.” The mother says. 

The little girl stops in her tracks, whining a bit. “Aw, mama! I’m not done playing though.” 

Puffy bends down, talking to the girl on her level. “If you come with me we might be able to catch your brothers on the track.” 

The girl’s eyes brighten upon hearing the woman’s words. “Dreamy and Foolish?” She asks. 

Puffy nods her head to which, with no further word or convincing, Michelle runs into her mother’s arms. With a swift motion, Puffy lifts the girl up in her arms, placing her on her hip. After shifting her around for a bit so she sits comfortably, Puffy turns her attention back to George. “Well, we oughta be heading on our way, been a pleasure meeting you though.” 

“And your dog!” Michelle pipes in. 

Puffy turns to look at her daughter, booping her nose, making the little girl’s face scrunch up with a giggle. “Yes, and your dog.” She says. 

George smiles while sliding his hands into his back pockets. “It’s been nice meeting you too.” 

Puffy hums. “Just remember, if you ever wanna watch some racing you come right on down. We’re just by Logstedshire lake. Don’t be a stranger.” 

With a wave goodbye from both parties, the two depart. George watches as the two stroll away, walking down the sidewalk. His dog brushes right up beside his leg. George looks down, making eye contact with the animal. “Lovely bunch they are.” He says. 

The two stand there for a few minutes before George let’s out a long sigh, pulling his hands out of his pockets and swiping them together. “Well, we better check out that diner,” George looks at his dog. “Whatcha say, girl?” 

  
  


The dog wags her tail, giving a small, affirming bark. George nods, taking it as a sign of agreement. He makes his way back to the house, opening the frail wooden door and stepping into the barren house. He makes his way over to the tile kitchen counter, grabbing his keys off it. As he makes his way out of the house, the dog just behind, George looks at a clock on the wall. It’s possibly one of the only pieces of furniture left. The time reads, 9:30.  _ “Should be enough time to get back before the movers get here.”  _ He thinks. 

Once outside the house, George turns around the door. The reality of owning his own very house hits him once more as he takes a step back to look at the chipped and old door. He places a hand to the center with a smile before his rumbling stomach brings him back to the present. He groans as he walks down the steps, hanging a right and stepping onto the cracked concrete driveway. 

The garage sits just against the house, not attached but still there. Like the rest of the house, it’s old and made of wood but the corners of it are made of red brick. His car rests inside where he’d left it the night before. George walks up the garage door, a small silver handle sits in the lower center. George flips through keys on his ring before finding the appropriate one. A small, silver key to be exact. He places it inside the lock, turning it till it unlocks. 

George shoves the keys in his back pocket, putting his hands on the handle and with the strength he has, opening it. The metal clangs and clacks, creating less than pleasant-sounding noises to the ear. Once rolled all the way up though, it reveals the car. Not a terribly impressive or flashy car but it’s home to George. He whistles, urging the dog to come. She trots up just behind him as George opens the driver’s door. The dog jumps in, taking her usual spot in shotgun. George piles in as well, sitting in the front. 

He pulls the seatbelt across his body, clipping in. He then takes the key to the vehicle, turning the car on. The engine roars like a lion, music to George’s ears. Pulling the car out of park and pushing his foot the gas, George hits the road. He doesn’t bother trying to close or lock the garage door since there’s nothing of value inside, besides doesn’t seem like anyone around would be capable of stealing. 

George decides to roll down the windows, letting his dog hang her head out the window and for the cool mid-Summer breeze to touch George’s pale skin. Houses, children, and trees pass by as they drive through the cul de sac. Once they’ve left, George hangs a right, pulling onto the highway. With the sign to his back and road straight ahead, he peddles along. More exposed farm land lines the left side of the road while the town sits to his right. 

It’s a serine sight, oh how George wishes he could freeze time and soak in everything about this moment forever. The wind tousles his hair, making it flow in the wind. The wind barely nips at his exposed skin, offering a satisfying relief. The dog’s tongue and ears flap in the wind. It’s moments like these that remind George why he left in the first place. 

A building starts to form in the distance, it’s short and sits just a bit off the road, presumably the diner that Puffy had talked about. The closer he gets, the more clear it becomes. It’s a steel building that looks to be oval in shape. The roof is flat aside from a large neon sign that reads. “Last Stop Diner.” 

  
  


The sides of the building are painted in turquoise strips. Windows line the whole building, showing the inside. There’s no mistaking it, that’s the diner Puffy was talking about. George taps the break, pulling off to the left-hand side of the road and pulling up to the diner. 

Not many cars sit in the parking lot, only one white and brown Chevy Celebrity and a grey Ford Escort. George pulls into park just beside the ford. Before he can roll up the windows though, the dog takes the liberty of jumping out the window. Whether out of excitement or her following her nose, George doesn’t know. He quickly turns off the ignition while getting out of the car. “Oh come on, Girl!” He calls. 

The dog is quicker than his feet though, she runs up the diner’s door where an old man is existing. As he opens the door to leave, the golden dog takes the chance to dart inside. George comes up to the door where the elderly man stands, looking a bit taken aback. George shoots him a forced, toothy smile while apologizing for the animal’s behaviour. 

George steps inside the diner, a bell ringing above his head as he does so. He looks from left to right, wondering where the dog ran off to. “This yours?” A voice asks. 

George looks forward. Standing behind a turquoise and white checked tiled counter is a man. In the pale man’s arms lies the puppy, smile on her face and panting about. George brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck nervously. He takes a step forward. “Um, yeah… Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t sweat it, a dog goes where their nose leads.” The man says, placing the dog down. 

The vizsla walks out from behind the counter and comes to sit beside her owner. George feels half inclined to leave after such an atrocious first impression. He points a thumb behind him while saying. “Well, I’m just gonna go put her back in the car.” 

The man waves a hand while letting out a “psst.” “Oh, no need. We welcome all pets into the diner,” The man stops, thinking back on his words for a second. “Well, by ‘we’ I actually mean ‘I’...” 

The man leans in a bit while saying. “Don’t tell my boss about this, alright?” 

George nods while making a fake gesture of pulling a zipper shut across his lips. “My lips are sealed.” 

The man takes a deep sigh of relief, giving him a thumbs up. The waiter pats the counter top. “Here, have a seat while I go get something.” 

With those words the waiter walks through a pair of singing doors, into the back. George takes one more look around, it’s completely empty. Pulling out one of the leather cushioned chairs, he takes a seat. His dog also jumps up, taking her place beside him, wagging her tail brightly. George smiles back at her. 

He takes a minute to look around the diner once more. It feels dead, not a single soul other than him, his dog, and waiter inhabit the place. It’s not something George is used to. Brightly coloured seats line the place, each either being turquoise or lavender. Pictures also hang on the walls of the place. They all seem to be of old pictures of the town and the area surrounding it. The soft sounds of Beatles music flows through the diner. The soft strumming noises of George Harrison playing the guitar along with his legato vocals fills George’s head. 

_ “Here comes the sun, and I say. It’s alright.”  _

He slowly sways to the beat while taking a moment to soak in the pleasant silence. The silence doesn’t last long though, seeing as the man comes out of the back room with a dog bowel in hand. He places it in front of the dog, kibble lies inside to which the animal wastes no time gobbling it down. “Like to keep something for anyone who brings their pets.” The waiter says.

George nods with a hum. “By the way, I’m Kristopher. You can just call me Kris though.” 

The waiter extends a hand, George grabs it. “George.” He simply says. 

The two pull their hands away. “Never seen you here before? Just stopping in on a trip or something?” 

George shakes his head. “Oh, no. I actually just moved in.” 

Kris looks out the window, towards the town then looks back at George. He tilts his head in the general direction of the town. “You mean L’manburg?” 

George nods. The waiter takes a second to soak in the man’s words. Once they register, his face lights and beams. He pulls a small cloth out from his shirt and hits it on the counter playfully. “Well, I’ll be. It’s been ages since anyone new moved in around these parts.” 

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.” George says. 

“Well, whatcha want? Gotta fine selection of foods, Oh, also it’s on the house.” Kris leans in once more to say. “But again, don’t tell my boss.” 

“You sure? Cause I can pay.” George asks. 

“Positive! Anything for a new face. Just this once though, got it?” 

George gives a thumbs up before going to look up at the menu. A board hangs above the waiter’s head. Various different dishes line the painted board, most of which have local names he’s never heard of. His eyes look to the breakfast section, after reading everything there for a minute he makes a decision. “I guess, ‘The Sunnyside Breakfast.’” 

“Perfect, I’ll get that started for you.” 

With it, Kris walks back into the backroom. George looks back over to his dog who has now finished eating, licking her lips. The man sits in silence, kicking his feet to the back of the seat. While silence is nice, it’s also so foreign to George and almost uncomfortable. He glances around the diner while trying to make small talk. “Pretty dead in here today.” He says. 

Kris pops his head out from the back room kitchen. “Oh, you just wait around for a little while longer. This place lights up after ten.” 

George leans over, trying to get a better look at where the waiter is. “What happens after ten?” He asks. 

“The crew comes in.” 

George scrunches his forehead, still not understanding the vague terminology. “Who?” 

“Group of racing aficionados who always after ten o’clock, Rowdy bunch but they keep this place in business.” 

“Racing aficionados?” George says to himself. 

His mind trails back, thinking of the day pervious. He feels like he knows what Kris is hinting at but nothing in his head feels clear. “Hey, I have a couple questions to ask if you don’t mind.” 

George snaps too, looking towards the back room again. “Oh, sure. Shoot.” 

“Ok, first. How old’s your dog?” 

George looks down at the pet. She’s still panting happily with her tail wagging so much so, you’d swear it’d fall off. “She’d about four months.” 

“She got a name?” 

George grits his teeth. “Um… No actually.” 

Kris sticks his head out again, a look of visible confusion plastered across his face. “What?” 

George swallows a lump in his throat. “Well, I mean. I call her ‘girl.’ Otherwise, no.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two stare at each other. George feeling a sense of judgement being cast on him. “I’m not all that good with names… “ 

“Clearly,” Kris says before going back to cooking. 

“Anyway, I’m going to ignore that I ask that at all. Where ya from George?” 

“England.” 

“Woah! Someone’s far from home.” 

George chuckles a bit, scratching just under his chin. “Yeah, it was quite the move.” 

“Oh, I’ll bet. What’s a fella like you doing in the middle-of-nowhere.” 

“Is that all anyone is ever gonna ask me?” George asks with a slight groan. 

Kris chuckles. “Well, we’ve got fair reason,” He steps out from the kitchen, a plate of food in his hands. 

The aromatic scent of breakfast fills George’s nostrils. His stomach roars more, begging for sustenance. Kristopher places the food in front of George. Three pancakes, a fried egg, and three strips of bacon lay on the plate. Without a second thought, George grabs the utensils given and gorges on the food. While he does so, Kris continues to speak. “Nobody ever comes to our neck of the woods. You can hardly blame people for asking.” 

George takes a second to swallow his food before replying. “I mean, I guess. It’s still all a little overwhelming though.” 

Kris nods. “I can imagine, you’ll get used to it though.” 

The waiter leans over to give Girl a pat on the head as George finishes his meal. It’s nice to have places like this, places that aren’t so crowded, and George can feel free to relax a bit. Something in his gut tells him this won’t be the last he’ll visit this place. 

After he’s finished, George pushes the plate forward and wipes his mouth clean with his hand. “Good?” Kris asks with a smile. 

“Fantastic,” George replies with a thumbs up. 

Kristopher chuckles, taking the plate and bowel away to wash. At that exact moment, the bell rings, causing the dog to bark. George looks over his shoulder, a set of unfamiliar faces paired with three familiar ones walk through the door. All are joking and chatting with one another while they take their seats beside where George sits. 

Suddenly the diner feels more compact and stuffy than it did previously. George peers over to his left, looking at the men but making sure to not make eye contact with any of them. 

There are six men, three of which he’s never seen before and two who at least look like he’s seen them before. “Hey, Kris! We’ll take the usual!” A man calls out. 

Now, he is someone George remembers. Sandy blonde hair that bounces with his every movement. It’s none other than the overly friendly, almost dog-like man, Dream. 

George feels himself scrunch up, trying to make himself as small as possible, attempting to avoid his gaze. “Did you see those donuts I pulled off? They were so clean!” 

A man with fluffy brown hair and a multi-coloured crewneck sweater shouts. “Yeah, they were smooth as hell. Honestly, Quackity should revoke his position.” A man who George recognizes to be Ponk says. 

A man at the far end of the table slams his hand to the table. He wears a blue beanie that pairs nicely with his floral Hawaiian shirt. His expression is that of playful anger. “Hey! You take that back!!” 

The man sitting behind the Quackity fellow places his hands on his shoulders, lowering him as he speaks. “Don’t worry babe, we aren’t replacing you.” 

“You better not be.” 

The man behind the hothead laughs, tossing his long, raven black hair out of his face. A couple of minutes pass of playful banter and laughing while George sits awkwardly in his chair. Kris comes out of the back room with a tray, five milkshakes and one bottle of pop rest on top. He places it down on the counter, after handing out the drinks to each of the men. 

A chocolate milkshake gets handed down to the black-haired man and Ponk, a vanilla one to both Quackity and Dream, a strawberry milkshake to the rainbow shirt wearer, and the pop to the man sitting beside Ponk who George swears was the man sitting in the passenger seat of camo truck. “Thanks.” Dream says, sliding a bill over to Kris. 

The teen waiter pockets the money in his apron before making it back to the kitchen. George takes this as a notion to try and leave, he tries to slide his chair back silently but the squeaking against the tile draws attention to him. All the men look in George’s direction. He feels small under their gaze. “Well, who’s this?” One of them asks. 

George feels like a middle schooler about to be beaten up by a group of bullies. George shuts his eyes, waiting for the worst. “Yo, isn’t this the guy we found you talking to the other day?” Ponk asks.

There’s a second of silence before a response. “Oh yeah, it is!” 

There’s a screech against the tile and the sound of shoes hitting tile. The next thing George knows, there’s a firm hand patting his back causing George’s eyes to fly open. He looks to his right where Dream’s face only a few inches away. From here he can see almost every detail.

Every bit of facial hair from his otherwise unkempt stubble, every freckle that lines across his checks and the bridge of his nose, the bits and strands of hair that fall over his eyes. If he weren’t invading his space and making him feel comfortable, George would have to admit that Dream was a decently handsome-looking guy. 

George keeps his hands in fists and pressed to his chest while nervous sweat forms on his brow. “George my friend, how are you?” 

“I’m not your friend,” George mumbles barely even above a breath. 

Dream pulls away, still with the same dorky smile on his face. He places his hand to his hips almost triumphantly. “Whatcha doing here?” 

George takes a second to respond, still a bit shaky from the sudden contact. “Um… I was just hungry and wanted to find a place to eat.” 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” 

The dog, sitting in the seat behind Dream barks, straddling the man. He jumps, turning around. His face lights up upon seeing the pet. “Oh my God, George you didn’t tell me you had a dog!” 

“That’s cause I’ve barely even talk-” 

“Dream, you got a new friend and didn’t tell us?” The blacked haired man asks, coming up to stand behind him. He turns to look at George. His face looks dirty and smells like petroleum mixed with ash. His eyes are a fiery amber carry a giddy, child-like joy in them. “How long you been friends with Dream? Also, how come I’ve never seen you before?” 

“We’re not friends, I only met him yesterday.” George pipes up. 

Dream looks over his shoulder as he pets the dog. “I don’t see why that can’t change.” He grins. 

George rolls his eyes, wishing for nothing more than to become one with the floor. “Dream, you’re scaring him off again.” The man behind George says. 

The group turns to look at him. It’s the man George swore he saw with Ponk in his car the other day. Even though he’s sitting down, George can tell he’s a taller fellow. Like Dream, he has stubble on his face but unlike Dream, it’s actually trimmed and kept clean. He wears a green checked shirt with a leather jacket over top. He spins around in his chair to face George and the others. “You're bombarding the poor guy with too much.” 

He looks George in the eyes, his gaze is calming, causing George to drop his shoulders a bit. “I know we’ve met briefly before but I never got to introduce myself,” The man places a hand to his chest. “I’m Sam.” 

“George… “ 

Sam smiles sweetly while looking over his shoulder. “Back there is my good buddy Ponk,” 

“Nice to meet ya, again!” Ponk says, waving. 

“The guy with the colourful sweater is Karl and his fiance Quackity, the dude in the beanie.” 

The two both give their hellos and wave, George waves back awkwardly. 

Sam points ahead. “And Sapnap, the third fiance.” 

“Third?” George asks. 

Sapnap nods, lifting his hand up to reveal a golden ring on his left hand. “Yep, three-way marriage. A trio joined in holy matrimony.” 

George looks behind to see both Karl and Quackity also holding hands up to show matching rings on their fingers. George nods. “Oh, cool.” 

“And that, as you’ve already met, is Dream.” 

Dream waves with a grin on his face. “Oh, so you’re the new guy Dream told us moved in?” Sapnap asks. 

George nods. “Yep, just yesterday.” 

“Well, it’s great to have a new face in town!” 

Sapnap leans in, putting a hand to the side of his face as if to whisper. “You know, if you like racing you could always come down the stomping grounds by Logstedshire lake and watch us rip around the dune-” 

Sapnap is abruptly cut off by Quackity slamming his fists to the counter. “Well, why don’t you just broadcast it to the world while you’re at it? Telling everyone what we’re doing, you know if you keep this up them co-” 

Before he can finish though, Quackity gets a shift knock upside the head by Ponk. “You also need to shut up.” 

“Hey! Nobody hits  **my** fiance!” Karl says. 

“Ok! Ok! Simmer down, no fighting in my diner or I’ll kick you all out!” Kris yells from the back. 

The group immediately quiets down. Minutes pass without a word spoken, just awkward coughing and staring at the ground. “But um… Seriously, if you ever wanted to come by and watch, feel free. Just keep it on the down-low.” Sapnap says. 

“Well, I would. Except I don’t know where Logstedshire lake or The Stomping ground even are.” 

Dream’s face lights up, like a puppy. “Wait! So, does that mean you’ll actually consider?” He asks while leaning in closer. 

George keeps his body stiff like a board. While Dream isn’t nearly as close as before, he’s still uncomfortable with the distance. He bites the inside of his cheek. “I mean, sure. Why not?” 

“Yes!” Dream chants. Shooting his arms up in the air. 

God, he can see the resemblance in personality between his sister and him. “Ok, I’ll draw out the directions.” He says. 

Dream reaches over to a napkin container on the counter. He then looks towards the kitchen door, shouting. “Hey, Kris! You got a pen I could borrow?” 

“Sure thing,” Kris replies, walking out the door. 

He reaches into his apron, pulling out a black ball-point pen. Dream thanks him while taking it, he uncaps it, beginning to doodle on the thin paper. George tries to get a look at what he’s drawing but Dream’s large hands make it hard to tell. Once he’s done, he slides the napkin over to George. 

He looks down at it, it’s a bit sloppy and smudged but easy enough to tell. Dream moves closer, barely brushing up against George’s side. The British man shivers, not sure what to make of the contact. Dream doesn’t seem to notice or care though. He points to the napkin, his face nearly touching George’s. “So, you know the highway you come in on to enter town?” 

George nods, trying his best to move away without Dream noticing. Dream places a finger to the line he drew, signaling the highway. “Well, you turn left and drive down that highway until you reach this lot of trees.” 

Dream’s finger lands on what seems to be a bunch of scribbles symbolizing trees. George tries to stifle back a chuckle. “You call those trees?” He jokes. 

Dream throws his head back with a laugh. “Hey, I never said I was an artist.” 

A warm smile meets George’s lips while Dream keeps explaining. “Well, about a kilometer or so down is a little turn-off, easy to miss if you’re not looking for it. From there you just follow the road which will bring you to the lake.” 

“How do I get to The Stomping Grounds?” George asks. 

“Oh, we’ll show you once you get there.” 

Dream pulls away, leaving George with the napkin. “We’re hosting an event there tonight actually.” Dream looks at Sam. “What time exactly was it again?” 

George looks over his shoulder. “Um… Like, five o’clock-ish.” Sam replies. 

Dream nods. “Sounds good, so you’ll be there?” 

George looks around, all eyes bear into his skin. It’s a tad bit intimidating, sure George was used to lots of people but never people this friendly. He swallows his nerves. “I mean, I’ll consider it.” 

“Great! Hope to see you then.” Dream says with a glowing grin. 

George takes a minute to look at Dream, he’s awestricken by the sheer amount of confidence and forwardness this guy possesses. So eager to become friends with a complete stranger and wear his emotions on his sleeve. It’s not something George had ever really experienced with a stranger before. While it makes him slightly daunting and scary it gives him this odd yet endearing factor that draws one in, even the most stand-offish kind of person. 

Not wanting to get lost too much in thought though, George moves to stand up, taking the napkin while calling his dog. “Well, I best get going. Got some stuff to do.” 

“Alrighty then, pleasure meeting you again.” Dream calls with a wave. 

The other five, plus the waiter also give their farewells before George walks out the door and leaves the building. He makes his way back to his care. Two more vehicles are parked off to the side, one being the camouflaged truck and the other a brightly and abreact painted hippie van. Both are isores as far as George is concerned but he supposes there must be some comical charm to them. 

George opens the door, Girl taking her spot as usual. George sits down, buckling himself up. Before he places the key into the ignition, he stops. Looking back into the diner where the seven men all chat and joke. He looks down at the crumpled napkin, still in his hand. He begrudgingly shoves it into his shirt pocket. He then runs his hands along his face before they both hand on the wheel. George places his forehead to the wheel and groans. “Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna say what every other author will tell you. Don't go spreading this fanfic around in CCs chats, donos, or DMs. They don't need it shoved down their throats and I don't want it either. If any content creator expresses discomfort with the fic I will alter it so it fits their boundaries or just delete it dependent on the complaint.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. 
> 
> I'm gonna say what every other author will tell you. Don't go spreading this fanfic around in CCs chats, donos, or DMs. They don't need it shoved down their throats and I don't want it either. If any content creator expresses discomfort with the fic I will alter it so it fits their boundaries or just delete it dependent on the complaint. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
